


Our Solemn Hour: Prologue

by Galysh_Sky



Series: The World Ends Tonight [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human Names or variations of used, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, That overly complicated fantasy AU that no one asked for, Viking Trio, human! au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh_Sky/pseuds/Galysh_Sky
Summary: 6 Children.5 Routes.4 Trusting Souls.3 Options.2 Risks.1 Chance to save a life.





	1. A Boy and A Rat

              Den woke not to the sound of a bell or the feeling of warm light tickling his eyelids but to a sudden cold breeze burrowing into his bed. He whined, curling tighter to conserve some heat but his brother was gone, and once the cold had been let in it would only continue to spread. Den opened his eyes and peered out. The room was still dark, not even a hint of sunlight peeking through the limp curtains. Ber’s shadowy form was moving about in the furthest corner. There was a soft thump, and then his roommate came bearing down on him to dump a pile of clothes on their bed.

            “Aww, really? The sun hasn’t even risen yet,” Den grumbled. Ber didn’t reply, already dressed, he cast him an impatient look, and crouched down to pull his poles out from their nest. Den sighed and sat up, flinching when his bare feet landed on the cold tile. He picked up his uniform, dressed swiftly, and slid out of the room to do his morning business. When he returned there was half a loaf of bread and some berries resting on the desk. Ber was standing by the window, chewing diligently. Den joined him. Outside, the streets were filing up as people darted back and forth under the glow of the lampposts. Almost directly across the street, a few of the night rats were disappearing into a man hole to hide away until night fell and they could ply their trade once more. Overhead the clouds slowly drifted outwards, revealing a pinkening horizon. Den smiled, stretched, and clapped his roommate on the shoulder. “That’s our cue, Ber! We’re on Ditch duty today.” Ber shrugged off his hand, swept up the last of the berries, and signed an admonishment. “You’re too loud,” Den replied, “and I am ready to go.” He picked up his bag, checked that his axe was safely inside, and strode out the door.

            Working for the military was not the fun that the recruiting officer had claimed it to be. Ditch work especially often left him sore with mud all over his clothes, but it paid them a weekly stipend, and Ber had finally gotten glasses that matched his prescription. So, Den only smirked when he heard newer recruits complaining and rolled the next body into the hole. Next week, he’d hopefully be back in the major’s good graces and that would mean he would be on Runner duty instead. At least that promised some action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker. Den cracked his knuckles and went to go fetch the next carcass, scanning his peripheral vision. There. A bit to his 2 o’clock someone was trying to inch past using the wagons as cover. Den scanned around quickly, none of the overseers were looking his way so he veered sharply and jumped up onto an overturned box. From there it was easy enough to crouch on the lip of the wagon, if he scrunched down he could remain out view of everyone of note. He peered around the edge. The figure he had spotted was just passing the wheel, seemingly dragging a leg as it leaned again the wood. Den could hear its raspy breath, and he checked automatically but it didn’t look like anyone was pursuing it. He looked in the direction that the figure was going, there was still quite a distance to go before it could even hope to reach the meager safety of the forest. Den hopped off the lip, scrambling over the dead bodies and slid over the side of the wagon, landing lightly behind the figure.

             He’d thought that he’d been quiet but the figure startled and spun around abruptly, revealing a dirty face, and narrowed blue eyes. Den was remined of Berwald’s disapproving looks so he grinned, and asked, “Aren’t you out past your curfew, lil’rat?”

           The face went blank, and Den saw the small body tense, shifting forwards onto the balls of its feet. Den held up his hands, and continued cheerfully, “Not that’s a bad thing. I’m just surprised, normally Rats are wise enough by the time they reach your age to stay out of the sunlight. You’re what ten? Nine?” A glare formed on the rat’s face, it would have been fearsome if the lower half hadn’t been tucked into a large brightly colored scarf.

             “What do you want?” A boy’s voice drifted out of the assortment of mismatched clothes, it sounded resigned.

              “I was just curious,” Den replied, resting his arms behind his head. “This is working grounds, not safe for little rats.” Somewhere back by the ditches someone called his name, but it wasn’t Ber’s distinctive voice so Den ignored it.

               “Get lost,” the boy said and turned away, determinedly continuing his route. Den watched him take a few hobbling steps, then bounded forwards and landed neatly besides the boy.

                 “You’ll be caught before you reach the end of the wagons,” Den warned, but was ignored. Up close the scent of blood, muck, and sweat clung to the boy. It wasn’t the scent usually associated with gutter rats. Den matched pace, a hand hovering behind the boy’s back in case he decided to take a header into the dirt. If the boy noticed he didn’t mention it. By the time they reached the last wagon, he was clearly reaching the end of his rope, almost collapsing against the grounding blocks. Den peered out around the tail, there was no one nearby but that wouldn’t last. It was impressive that no one had noticed them already. He suspected that the yelling coming from the trenches might have something to do with that. He turned back to the boy, who was bent over his bum leg massaging it as if that would make it work properly. Den ran a hand through his hair, rubbed at the marking on his shoulder, and heaved a sigh. It was ignored.

             “Rat, where are you trying to go?” He asked, that was ignored as well.

           Den hesitated again, glanced around the wagon once more and made up his mind. Taking two steps, he grasped the boy by the back of his jacket and heaved him up, scooping up his legs with his other arm. This drew an angry protest which he ignored, choosing instead to stride swiftly towards the forest edge some 300 meters away. A small fist attempted to slam itself into his shoulder. Den rearranged his grip, wrapping up all the offending limbs into one bundle. The boy fell still, an angry glower on his face and several words visibly being contained. Den smiled at him, going for an obnoxious grin, and kept striding. A tingle on the back of his neck told him that he’d been spotted but it faded as he stepped into the shadows of the large trees.

               He felt the temperature drop and couldn’t help but shiver. It hadn’t been exactly warm under the sun, but it had still been better than this. He went another 100 meters or so and crouched down to deposit the boy against a large root. His efforts were rewarded with a sharp boot to the chest, knocking him backwards. Den scrambled up, and frowned when he saw that the boy was still wrapped in his jacket, it couldn’t have been him that knocked him back. The boy in question unfurled and struggled to his feet, casting Den a last glare he headed deeper into the woods.

            “You’re welcome!” Den called after him. Something slammed into his shoulder and he winced, looking down to see an abnormally large acorn rolling away. “Okay okay, I know when I’m not welcome,” Den murmured and turned to leave the forest.

              Ber was waiting for him by the edge of one of the ditches, leaning on a shovel, with an impressive glare on his face. Den slowed slightly, looking around warily but everyone else had returned to work, dutifully keeping their heads down. “What was all that yelling about?” he asked. Ber’s face darkened, but he lifted a hand and signed out a question. “Me? I went to go take a piss. Why? Were you worried?” Den danced forwards to ruffle his brother’s hair. The other worker dodged, swinging his shovel about in clear warning. Den snickered, and then laughed outright when Ber signed an answer. The major had been by, his stomach roiling at the news, Den let out a few more chuckles not that Ber looked fooled and wiped his hands on his pants. “Well, that’s that then. What did he want?” Ber only shrugged, his face falling back into its general gruffness. He swung his shovel up onto his shoulder and headed back towards the ditches. Den followed him, picking up a shovel as well and jumped down into the ditch.

                  Later, fresh from the shower Den allowed himself to collapse onto their shared mattress, within the relative haven of their room. His ears rung from the major’s yelling, his back ached from the overseer’s belt, and his stomach contorted around its inner emptiness. The door clicked shut and Ber’s heavy tread made itself way over. Den registered the light touch on his leg but remained sprawled in the middle of the bed, not willing to sacrifice comfort for decency. There was a humph and then the bed shook as Berwald dropped down beside him, casting his arms in such a way that Den had no choice but to shift over. The bed wasn’t broad enough for two starfish. A fist brushed up against the back of his head and Den complied by looking at his neighbor. An apple was promptly shoved at him. Den blinked, a little startled, only reacting when Ber grew tired of waiting and dropped the fruit to roll over on his side, dragging a pillow over his head. Smiling Den picked up the treat and limped over to the window, munching happily.


	2. Food For Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Mikal, Gavri'el, and Emil.  
> This section brought to you by procrastination and lack of sleep. Constructive Criticism is always appreciated.

                _Part II: Food for Thought_

 

              The first time it happened, Lukas thought it to be a lucky fluke, some fool forgetting their lunch in the crook of a wall. He hadn’t wasted an opportunity and snatched it up before continuing, hurrying in the early morning mist. Common sense dictated that he test the apple before putting it to any usage, but he needed to be out of the city to do that.

             2 days later as he was rushing to exit the city before dawn, constrained to a rapid hobble as his leg had still not healed enough to jog, a second incident occurred. One of his friends appeared by his hip, chirping smugly, and within its grip was another apple, greenish in color.

              “Where’d you get that?” Lukas hissed, snatching up the apple to shove it in his pocket. Glancing around warily, he guided his friend into a side alley and turned to frown at it. Ully smirked up at him, looking ridiculously pleased, but still consented to give an answer in rapid chirps. Upon hearing that the apple had been in the same location as the previous one, Lukas felt suspicion bloom deep in his gut. Wordlessly he pulled it out to inspect it, but it looked like a perfectly regular apple, just like the ones sold in the market, except it was cleaner.

           “Right, thanks. I suppose,” Lukas mumbled, he dropped it back into his pocket and took off again. The little ones would be pleased with his haul today, regardless of where it had come from. Ully chirped smugly and faded from sight. Lukas continued his route, leaving behind the overbearing presence of the city walls for the coolness of the forest. Under the eaves he allowed his shoulders to slump some and his gait to slow down, transferring his bag from under his jacket to the more comfortable over the shoulder carry. All around him the forest came alive, a mix match of sounds that to his ears sounded both harmonious and safe. None of the city dwellers dared to travel this deep into the woods, not even the hunters with their supposed ‘great skills.’ With the ease of experience he slid down an embankment, balanced across a squirrel bridge, and made his way up to the ruins of an old cabin.

             From the distance, it looked like a house lost in timed overtaken by nature’s retributions, the roof once broad and steepled had become weighed down by years of vines and the demanding spread tree branches. It cascaded to the ground, the ideal staircase for intrepid rats, while blocking off any access to what used to be a front door, now a dark alcove. The lower floor walls, built out of stone as they had been, still stood proudly sheltering the inner rooms from the inclement weathers. However, the wood from the upper floor had long been repurposed into firewood and a small bookshelf. Lukas paused to checks the traps he’d set before leaving the previous night and finding them untouched, he made his way up the roof using the intertwined tree as a guide. Shortly before the apex there was a break in the shingles, large enough for a small person to slip through. Crouching on a tree branch, he pulled away the mat covering it and lowered himself down into the darkness. Resting his elbows on the rim, he hung until his feet connected with the ladder dug into the wall and he could steady himself enough to pull the mat shut above his head, removing the rising light. In near perfect darkness, Lukas finished the climb down, and padded along the hallway until he found the trapdoor leading into their shelter.

            “Lu! You’re back!”

             A delighted cry reached him when he stepped into the eating area, followed shortly by 40 pounds slamming into his his waist. “Oof,” Lukas grunted, and staggered back a few steps. “Good morning to you too, Mikal.”

           “G’morning!” His youngest brother exclaimed, crusty faced, and beaming. “Did you bring back more apples?”

           “Is that all I’m good for around here, bringing apples?” Lukas replied, he gripped Mikal’s shirt and dragged him higher sit on his hip. The boy responded by wrapping an arm around his neck and planting a sticky kiss on his cheek. Lukas fought back the urge to drop the brat.

            “Yes.”

          Lukas looked over, Gavri’el was seated on the counter, his nose in a book.

             “Yes, what?”

              “Your job is to bring us apples, pleb,” Gavri’el said, his tone just short of haughty.

              “Is that so? Well if your royalness wants breakfast he can take Mikal to wash his face.”

                Gavri’el looked up at that, dark eyes slightly wide, utmost horror for him. Lukas smirked at the sight and deposited the wiggling bundle currently attempting to choke him in his brother’s lap, snatching his book back with his free hand. “Chop chop now, time’s awastin’.”

                The 11-year-old sent him a look of pure betrayal but slid off the counter, and disappeared into the side room, dragging Mikal along. 2 brothers suitably dealt with Lukas deposited his goods in the cold storage, and set about preparing their breakfast for the day. The coffee jar when shaken felt disturbingly empty, and when peered into it revealed less than a full mug’s worth of beans. Already dreading Gavri’el’ s reaction, and his own bleak evening plans, Lukas set about brewing a pot. He’d just set a simple spread of bread and fruit slices on the counter when Emil drifted in, rubbing an eye and yawning. Something deep inside of Lukas’ gut released at the sight, and he lifted an arm to pull his brother close. Emil nestled against him, still yawning, and mumbled a greeting. Lukas ruffled his fluffy hair in reply, and dropped a kiss on the furrowed brow. Emil squeaked adorably. Gavri’el returned shortly after, Mikal hanging upside down off his shoulders like an oversized cape, squealing happily.

               The days went by in their usual monotony. While Lukas slept the daylight hours away, Gavri’el would roam the woods with Emil, checking their traps and hunting. In the afternoon, Lukas made it a point to sit the three down and go over their lessons, math for Gavri’el, reading and writing for the younger ones. Lukas himself, when he could focused on his spell work, and the methods used to uncover ancient names. Almost daily now, there was some sort of fruit in the hollow behind the red stone. Just the previous morning it had been a slightly bruised pear, complete with four duck eggs. He’d yet to find a trace of his mysterious benefactor, but as of yet none of the items had revealed themselves to be cursed.

                 23 days into a well-established routine, Lukas reached behind the stone, patted around, and pulled it back to reveal nothing but some old crumbs. More than a little startled, he checked again but there was still nothing to be found.

           “You know, I’ve been wondering where my food keeps getting off to.”

              Lukas jolted and spun about, lifting his hands protectively, one gripping the red stone. Across the alley from him, leaning casually against the wall stood a familiar looking boy. Unbidden the thoughts of a mocking voice, tight grip, and smelly trench coat drifted up from his subconscious. Lukas eyes narrowed at the reminder, and he felt a full out glower blossom when the stranger lifted a hand and cheerfully said, “yo lil’rat, how’s the leg?”

             Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forwards, removing his hand from his trench coat as he did. Lukas leapt sideways, calling the nearest element to his fingers, and feeling the dust and dirt coating the alley respond grudgingly. The other boy didn’t seem to notice, whistling cheerfully he placed a wrapped bundle in the hollow, and set two gleaming oranges next to it. “Hey, could I have the stone back? I don’t want anyone else finding these,” he said, accompanied with a quick flash of his teeth.

             “What are you doing?” Lukas demanded, and lifted the stone warningly. He received a look of pure innocence from glimmering blue eyes, it might even have worked had Lukas not grown up with Mikal.

             “Hmm? I could ask you the same thing,” was the reply spoken through what was definitely a smug smirk. “Running about as if rats didn’t have curfews, threatening the big bad guard only trying to do his job.”

            “I’m not a ‘rat’,” Lukas snapped, “and you’re a fool if you think you can arrest me.” He stepped forwards yanking on the tenuous link he’d managed to establish with the earth, a few mots of dirt rose, but that was all. The stranger regarded him, eyes appearing curious from under his mop of shaggy blond hair, a restrained smile playing on his lips. Recognizing a losing battle, Luks cursed angrily and retrieved the food from the hollow before forcibly returning the stone to its place. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the stranger beam, but the sudden winking out of the street lamps drew his attention and sent a bolt of alarm through his innards. Hastily Lukas shoved the bundle into his bag and hastened down the alley, a few beats passed and then the stranger was falling into place besides him.

            Lukas snarled wordlessly at him, and broke out into a jog only to be yanked back like a puppy on a leash. A trench coat found itself dumped on his head.

            “My bad, put that on, will you?” His companion said brightly, and when he hesitated added, “It’s not much but no one will arrest a kid in a military jacket. We’re owned after all.”

            As irritating as it was, Lukas could not deny the truth in that statement, and shrugged his way into the coat before setting off again, aiming for purposeful instead of harried. The owner of said trench coat followed, pointing out the best stalls for snacks and fruit as they went until they had reached the shelter of the walls filled with their secrets and hideaways. Lukas clambered through one, but paused on the other side when he noticed that he was still being followed.

          “Are all guards as slacking at their duties as you?” He asked, spinning back to face the irritant, still crouched in the tunnel.

            “My coat?” Was the offered reply, complete with a held-out hand, and a smile. Lukas hesitated, unwilling to admit that he’d been hoping to keep the thing, if for no other reason than that Emil and Mikal could use more clothes. Unbidden his hands tightened, and he pulled it closer to himself. The stranger, his benefactor, he reminded himself blinked at him for a long moment than rubbed at his neck looking awkward. While he was clearly thinking it over, Lukas took a few careful steps backwards but found himself freezing when the gaze flashed back to him.

            “Let’s make a deal, lil’rat,” he said, his face more serious an almost downward tilt to his lips.

            “I’m not a rat,” Lukas hissed, though something that felt uncomfortably like a conscious reminded him that ‘ _normal children didn’t steal for a living.’_

               “You tell me your name, and I’ll let you keep my coat,” the city dweller continued as if Lukas had not spoken. “It gets rather cold in the forest doesn’t it?”

             Finding himself faced with irrefutable logic once more and the chance to keep a warm if too large coat, Lukas barely hesitated before spitting out, “Lukas, that’s my name not lil’rat.”

             The stranger laughed, too loudly and much too brightly, before straightening out of his crouch, and hopping to the ground. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance Lukas, I’m Den.”

             “Like I care,” Lukas said as coldly as he could manage, spinning on his heels he strode swiftly for the woods, Den’s laughter drifting after him.


	3. Hold Your Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, this still feels a little muddled but I'm tired of staring at it, so here you go.  
> Please let me know if any major grammatical errors jumps out at you. Also, there's some plot that's hiding in here.

_Part III: Hold Your Tongue_

            For the third morning in a row, Ber woke not to the cuddling of his brother turned octopus but to an empty bed. He carefully inched a hand out from the warmth of his blankets and patted the pillow opposite him, it was cold, and lumpy to the touch. Den had been gone for a while. Letting out a sigh, Ber forced himself upright, and grabbed up his glasses from a nook in the wall. A swift look around the room, revealed that the sun had not yet pierced the blinds, his brother was not present, and there was half a loaf of bread on the desk.

          “D’n wh’t ‘r’ ye d’ng?” Ber murmured to himself, as he made his way across the room. The bread was pliant to the touch, fresh from that morning’s bake then. Without further scruples he tore off a bite and went about preparing for the day.

        The tolling of the morning bell had him reporting to his station, in uniform, and with his baton on his belt. He signed in, and made his way to the morning meet, scanning for his wayward brother. Den was lounging in a chair when he entered, missing his signature trench coat, and yawning. Ber felt a flicker of irritation and he stalked over intending to make some demands.

          “D’n,” he said, glowering down at the figure. Den blinked up a him, caught midway through another yawn, before a broad grin split his face.

          “Ber! You made it!” He exclaimed happily, “I was worried you’d oversleep!”

          ‘ _Worried that **I’d** oversleep?_ ’ Ber signed, arching an unimpressed eyebrow but Den only grinned back, utterly unrepentant. Ber let out a sigh, and took the seat his brother offered, arguing against that smile was usually pointless. Whatever Den had been up to he’d hear about it sooner or later, secrets were not something that his brother was good at keeping. The morning’s route took them through artisan alley, where Ber’s main task was making sure Den didn’t veer off every few steps to go ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over some elaborate item as if he hadn’t just seen them yesterday. At least that was normal.

        Den by nature was loud, with a smile as bright as the sun, and hand gestures that flashed liked neon signs. He couldn’t sit still, constantly tapping a finger or his foot, sprawling on things, people, only to roll off and up a moment later. Ber knew this very well, he had long since abandoned the illusion of a peaceful evening after a long day on the march. That illusion hadn’t existed since he’d been a mere child, barely tall enough to reach a knife on the table much less protect something so ephemeral. He wasn’t a child anymore, tall enough to put some adults to shame, strong enough to crack the skulls of most ruffians, swift enough to keep up with his brother. And yet, there was a chill growing in his stomach, a thought brewing in the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right, something was wrong with his brother. It wasn’t something physical, that much he could tell, Den moved like he always had steady on his feet and sure of his movements. It was something subtler, something like awakening to an empty room, to the sight of his brother’s bare arms where the dark material of a trench coat should have been. It was the fact that Den was quiet now, where previously he’d been laughing now he stood still as a hunting dog, head tilted just slightly and a look on his face. Ber followed his gaze in time to see the tail end of a coat slip around a corner, he looked back to his brother, but Den was moving again whistling jauntily.

      Ber followed, 2 steps behind and to the left, out of range should Den decide to draw his baton, but despite his efforts his thoughts kept drifting away. A long time ago, he had walked abreast with his brother because there was no one likely to bash either of them upside the head if he wasn’t watchful. _Before_ , back when his eyesight was as fuzzy as a chicklet’s downy plumage there had been a hand on his shoulder propelling him forwards. It had been old and worn, filled with countless wrinkles running as deep as the streams that crisscrossed the fields, but it had been warm. As warm as the summer’s sun, and the spring breeze that ruffled his air as he sat on a swing eating. Even then Ber had known, that if that warm person had not taken them in, his brother and he would have been lost to the death god or the auction block. His brother Den, no this was before Den, he had still been Mathias, and he had possessed a hand small and warm that fit neatly around Ber’s wrist.

        There had been no need for metal eyes because he had a twin that could anticipate his every need and movement. Ber liked to think that the reverse had been true as well, he’d hardly needed eyes to know when his brother was about to lunch himself at someone, and he hadn’t needed them to fling himself into the fray. A brother who was more often than not a blur of yellow and red was usually a good thing. It was when he went still, falling silent, and Ber could actually see him, that he knew something was going down. The dinner table had been set, Den had been swaying back and forth at the head of the table, Ber remembered the feeling of the wooden chair and the smug pleasure at being the one who had obtained it first. He hadn’t forgotten the scream that had shattered the air, drifting in through the open window, even as the bells tolled out a warning cry far too late.

        A hand, tense and shaking had grasped him by the back of his shirt and swung him around the table, sending him stumbling towards the kitchen. Den had crashed into him, shoving more than guiding, before he grabbed his wrist and yanked him over to the open window. The ground outside was rough, small stones cutting into bare feet, and stealing his footing all to quickly. The hand wrapped around his wrist was not warm, sweaty, it clung too tightly and Ber protested half-heartedly but he was ignored. Ber could barely hear his gasping over his own breaths, his ears attuned to the cacophony rising behind him. Abruptly the ground had disappeared from below his feet and he had gone crashing forwards, rolling, and only coming to a halt when he slammed into something hard. It had shifted, and he’d been cast back by something hard and brown. Mathias’ panicked voice had barely pierced the haze blooming in his head. A haze that had not faded, even as a collar weighed heavily around his shoulders, and his brother’s shoulder pressed against his as still as a corpse’s. His eyes told him that the liquid he wiped away from that damp forehead was not clear sweat, but red blood. The silence back then had been heavy, permeated with the smell of piss and fear, the stillness had felt wrong to the bottom of his bones.

       This silence felt different, it was in the soft padding of Den’s feet as he snuck about the room in the early hours of the morning, before even the sun had dared to pierce the smog. Ber had watched sheltered under the curvature of the blankets as his brother dressed himself and left a loaf of bread for him. He’d left the room before Ber could ask ‘ _what he was up to_ ,’ and he was left to sigh. Rolling over he cast his arms out until his fingers touched the edge of the mattress. This blooming habit was starting to rub on Ber’s nerves, yet when questioned his brother had only laughed him off and spun away.

        Ber walked the streets at dusk, twirling his baton and scanning the streets. Rats shivered when he passed, ducking into alleys, and even the commoners shrunk away, spitting slurs under their breaths. Only Lords, not that there were many in these haunts, met his glance disgust barely hidden under a thin veneer. Ber met their gaze evenly, and tapped his baton against his shoulder, if he was feeling particularly spiteful he might tip his hat, they hated that. Den was to his left, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the smog lights. He’d been quiet all evening, eyes lost somewhere over the horizon, Ber could see the thoughts churning.

       “Say Ber?”

       “Hmm?”

       “Do you believe in sentinels?”

        That was a dumb question, and Ber gave it the silence it deserved. Den broke the silence a few moments later, letting out an ungraceful snort, before he spoke, “sorry, of course you do.”

       There it was again that tone, jovial but with an undertone that just rang slightly wrong. Ber curled a lip at a particularly daring rat, and it scurried away leaving the platter of pies untouched. He swallowed forcibly, took a breath, and with his eyes fixed straight ahead asked a question.

        “Just curious.” Den’s reply was prompt, “I was thinking about that day, ya know when Grams died,”

          “W’s m’rder’d.:

        “…Right, when that happened, there was a sentinel, but I haven't seen one since. I was thinking it was odd.”

       “Do'ya w’nt to?”

        “Hells no!” Den replied, the answer almost exploding out into the still air. Ber sent him a quelling glare but it was ignored. “One was enough, thanks,” Den continued only to shake his head, a moment later a smirk grew as he caught sight of a disturbance. Ber grunted an agreement and matched his pace when Den broke out into a run.

       The next morning, Den showed up to the meet with a glitter to his eyes and forest dirt in his hair. Ber didn’t ask, just used the excuse of his brother’s loudness to ruffle it out. Den remained oblivious, attempting a retaliation that sent them both crashing to the ground, and ended in familiar laughter. There was a sense of contentment rolling off Den and Ber felt it intrude and curl up in his chest, it was something that he hadn’t felt since _before_ , and if this was caused by whatever was dragging Den out of bed so early in the morning than he could live with it. After that realization it was easy enough to ignore his brother’s early morning departures, and to cover the minor details that he forgets to erase when he returned from the outside. As long as his brother’s face remained as radiant and happy than he would keep silent.


	4. What Goes Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't write this section, because I wasn't sure about Gavri'el's voice, but there was a plot point that needed to be brought up and once I started writing it sort of got away from me. Whoops.

         IV. _What Goes Unspoken_

         Some called them _monsters_ , others still _freak_ , some elites _pet_ , but everyone agreed that they belonged with a collar around their necks and incarcerated when they weren’t being thrown into battle. They came with different classifications and skills, a few so weak they could barely lift a feather much less themselves, but others were so strong that they never left solitary unless it was in a straight jacket. It is unknown as to what caused the mutation, the nobles claimed that it was a gift from the Gods to bring them victory in their battles. They claim that the _first_ was a beautiful man who commanded the elements and all the scaly creatures to bend to his will. But deep underground, in the Below streets another rumor had blossomed. It spoke of a girl born out of wedlock whose father had more money than anyone in his kingdom and whose mother scrubbed chamber pots for a living. They say she awoke one day and realized that life wasn’t fair, and when they finally apprehended her more than fifty people had lost their lives. In the end, eyewitness testimonies claimed that she had only been captured because she was coughing and swaying to hard to fight back. Coughing just like the sounds that were filtering through the thick blanket and into his ears.

          Gavri’el shifted about rearranging the flashlight as he turned the page. A list of names was scrawled across the paper in long and spindly handwriting, it spanned both pages and continued on to the other side. There were letters next to each names and numbers. Gavri’el picked one out at random;

        << Laniatum Excubiarum Terra. _Earth Sentinel_. S Ranks: 3, A Ranks: 8, B Ranks: 22, C Ranks: 46, D Ranks: 113, W Ranks: 258. >>

         Something dropped onto the mattress before rolling into his side and transforming his blanket from a comfort into a method of asphyxiation. Letting out an irritated noise Gavri’el freed his head and turned to glare at the intruder. Large eyes framed by black eyelashes stared back at him.

           “Lu is coughing again,” Mikal said.

          Gavri’el bit back his instinctive reply and instead let out a sigh as he saw the last of his peace float away, he imagined it even waved a jaunty hand goodbye as it left. “And we should go check on him, is that it?” He asked as he sat up.

          “Yup! Emi thinks so too!” Mikal replied, his faced breaking open into a gap-toothed smile. Gavri’el shook his head silently but handed over the flashlight to his youngest brother and carefully closed his book, arranging the loose leaves so they wouldn’t crinkle. On his far side, Emil rolled over eyes just visible between the flop of his bangs and the top of his over shirt.

           “Let’s go check on Lukas then, shall we?” Gavri’el said and was gratified when he received two beams. The floor of their bedroom was cold, the stone having lost any heat it might have garnered during the daylight and the material from whence his socks were hewn did little to protect his feet. With Mikal’s arms clinging to one shoulder whilst his legs were wrapped securely around his waist, Gavri’el proceeded listening for tell ale coughs to guide his way. Emil’s hand slipped into his own and tugged him towards the kitchen. Though the sounds grew louder, no gleams of light appeared, and the 11-year-old felt irritation begin to replace his concern. “Mikal light,” he snapped and shoved his way through the door curtain. The flashlight halo revealed a sorry sight, one that made Gavri’el want to headbutt someone, seated on the countertop with an open book in his lap and a mug was his older brother.

           That was not an unusual sight, what fed the ire was the trembling in Lukas’ shoulders and the paleness of his skin, almost pallid. “Lu!” Mikal exclaimed and made as if to climb down.

         The interpelled looked up, blinked silently, and then glared, “what are you doing up?” He snapped. Mikal flinched back and lost his grip his slide turning into an ungainly fall. Gavri’el caught him around the waist, took three giant steps forwards and placed him on the countertop where he promptly lunged for Lukas’ face.

         “Hey?!” Lukas yelped, wheeling back as the book slid from his lap and Mikal’s small hands collided with his face.

          “Lu! You’re warm!” Was the subsequent exclamation.

         “I’m… I am a warm blooded…?” Lukas replied, looking much like the antelope caught by the hunter’s scope light. Mikal frowned, jaw going tight and cheeks puffing out but before he could correct his brother. Lukas jolted and bent near double as another series of coughs wracked his chest and left him with his head pressed against his knees, still shuddering. The pattering of feet told Gavri’el that Emil had just fled the room, no doubt to fetch their first aid kit. He approached the other two, pulling up a blank face when Mikal sent him a panicked look.

        “What was that you said? I’m fine? Take yourself off to bed now, was it?” He asked, only to receive a vicious glower for his troubles. Gavri’el glared right back and reached out to press the back of his hand to his brother’s forehead. He needn’t have bothered, the heat wafted up to him leaving little doubt that a fever had made its home there. The concern returned, a small ball that curled itself up in his gut and pulsed with each breath. “C’mon, let’s get you to a bed.”

        “I’m fine,” Lukas protested, shaking his head as if the gesture alone didn’t make him sway. Gavri’el ignored him, and motioned at Mikal to move, the little boy flung himself off the counter in return, wobbling a bit but miraculously not face planting the ground. He darted ahead of them calling out for Emil. Gavri’el turned back to his brother and without ceremony confiscated his mug, he even bent and retrieved the fallen book from the ground, so Lukas would not have any excuses. “You’re worrying about nothing,” Lukas muttered, but he uncrossed his legs and slid off the counter top. “Honestly, its just a cold.”

         “People have died from less,” Gavri’el replied, he set a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder and followed him back into their bedroom. Mikal was bouncing on the mattress, looking over Emil’s shoulder who had upended their sparse supply of medicine onto the blankets. He looked up at their entrance, there were tears gathering in his eyes though none had escaped yet.

       “Storebror…we don’t have any Meadowsweet or Black Elder, and there’s only a few leaves of Yarrow left.” There was panic brewing in Emil’s eyes and though Mikal looked confused now, it wouldn’t take long before he picked up that something had changed.

        “That’s fine, it’s not that difficult to fine,” Gavri’el heard himself say, he felt Lukas jolt beside him and Emil did not look especially reassured, but he gathered up the herbs and packets clearing the mattress. Lukas sat down gingerly before flopping backwards and stretching out. Mikal promptly dropped down as well and claimed his stomach for a pillow. Emil curled up on the other side, resting his head on Lukas’ shoulder.

        “Gavri’el,” Lukas said and held out his hand. The second eldest sighed but sat down as well, curling himself around Mikal and linking their fingers together. “We’ll go find something in the morning, okay?”

          “Okay.”

          Gavri’el could count on one hand the number of times he’d been into the city, and he could count on one finger the number of times it had happened in broad daylight. Lukas walked like he belonged here, with his head held high and his hands shoved into the pockets of the trench coat. The same coat that had mysteriously appeared one day, and he still didn’t know here it came from. Lukas had just shoved an apple slice into his face when he’d asked. The streets were just beginning to fill with the early birds as the merchants unrolled their wares and began to hark. It wasn’t a pretty sound, more like the cacophony created by a murder of crows than an organized market square. Gavri’el sped up a little determined to keep close to Lukas. he hadn’t ben blessed with the protection of a coat and he could feel his skin crawling under the many gazes. The thought of them knowing that he was a rat was almost enough to cause him to grab his brother’s wrist. He crushed the impulse hastily, Lukas weak as he was might fall or react dangerously if suddenly grabbed.

         “Bror, do you know where you’re going?” Gavri’el asked eventually after they’d passed several stalls, one of which that seemed appropriate and veered off into a narrower side street. It was inhabited by only a few booths, whose merchants were clearly not up to par. Lukas looked around, shoulders hunching as he coughed before he moved on swiftly, clearly searching for something. Gavri’el followed him down weaving circuits, up a staircase, across a rope bridge that swayed alarmingly, and back down again into an even seedier section of town. Lukas stumbled to a halt below an overhang, shoulders shuddering as he hacked and spat bile onto the ground, there was a wild gleam in his eyes when he looked up and he flinched away when Gavri’el reached out.

        “Hey…” Gavri’el started but Lukas was already gone, a steady lope that ate up ground and created a dull pounding that matched the beat in Gavri’el’s head. The boy clenched his jaw and sped up until he was only a stride or two behind his brother. Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and Lukas veered sharply left, sliding between two buildings so quickly that Gavri’el overshot and stumbled on for a few paces. He skidded to as halt, spun back around and darted into the corridor, calling for his brother. He could hear coughing up ahead but nothing else. Gavri’el burst out into a small clearing, Lukas was kneeling in the middle bent over as he hacked but he wasn’t alone. There was a man over him, one who wore the belts and carried the baton of the enemy. One who was dressed in a familiar trench coat. He looked up at the sound of Gavri’el skidding to a stop and his eyes narrowed, a hand on his baton he stepped past Lukas and placed himself in between the two. Lukas was still coughing but Gavri’el found his feet frozen to the ground, unable to take a step back or more importantly to gasp out a sound. A voice inside his head, was telling him to run, it sounded a bit like Lukas when he yelled, but there was another voice as well one that was older and far warmer. That one was murmuring of a promise, duties, and trust freely given.

          “Get away from my brother…” the voice that rasped out of his throat wasn’t his own, it sounded like the squeak of a mouse, Gavri’el swallowed harshly and forced himself to take a step forwards. The baton slid smoothly out of its belt loop and unfolded with a snap, the silent promise of pain hung heavy in the air. That was his brother though and he was needed, Gavri’el took another step forwards, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. He swallowed again, words forming and disappearing in his brain, there had to be something he could say. Anything.

          “Stop right there,” the guard said, his baton swung up to rest against his shoulder and his stance broadened.

         “That’s… That’s my brother,” Gavri’el protested, and took another step. “I’m just going to collect him and then we’ll leave, please.” His legs were trembling he could feel them, his palms hurt where his nails were digging into them, there was a growing stone in his stomach because Lukas had stopped coughing, but he wasn’t moving either.

       “I said, that’s far enough, _Rat_.”

        Gavri’el froze at the tone shift, legs locking him into place, the guard knew what he was, that meant he knew what Lukas was as well and there was no way they’re were going to escape unscathed. “Please,” he said unable to keep the tremble out of his voice. He’d seen what they did to rats caught outside of the regulation hours, and he’d heard the cautionary tales.

      “Silence. Kneel, put your hands on your head.”

       Gavri’el dropped to his knees, lifting his hands shakily. Despite how hard he was biting down on his lower lip, he couldn’t stop the trembling. On the other side of the guard Lukas was stirring, Gavri’el could see his narrow fingers digging down between the cobblestones. Dirt was beginning to float, small mots coalescing into a form only to fall to the ground when Lukas abruptly went limp. He couldn’t stop the instinctual yelp or the forwards jolt, nor could he prevent the baton strike that crouched into his shoulder and sent him careening sideways. It hurt and for a few long breaths he couldn’t do anything more than squeeze his eyes shut and curl up.

          A loud clatter followed by a crash had his eyes flying open again. The guard was on the ground, flat on his face, his baton lying a few feet away. There was another man kneeling on his back, he was grinning despite the harsh pants that were leaving his mouth. “Tsk tsk tsk, you gotta watch your back out here, Alex,” he said. Gavri’el stared too shocked to do much of anything else, the newcomer was a guard the crisscross of belts riding on his hips and the baton at his side spoke to that. So, did the dark gray cargo pants tucked into scuffed boots. The stranger stood up, reaching his arms high above his head in a lazy stretch, before stepping down and fixing a bright gaze on Gavri’el, “you all right there, kiddo?” he asked.

         Gavri’el blinked, scooting away until he could scramble to his feet, his eyes flitted over to the abandoned baton and back again. “I’m… I’m fine. We’re fine, what, what do you want?”

         “Me? Nothing much, lil’squeaker,” the guard said and shrugged, his thumbs hooked into a belt and he rocked back a bit. “Though…,” the head tilted a bit angling towards Lukas, “Lu, isn’t looking too hot you might want to take him to the Apothecary.”

         The answer Gavri’el had been preparing to spit back short-circuited in his brain, leaving behind only steam and smoke. The guard knew who Lukas was, the guard knew that they were rats, the guard was a danger to Emil and Mikal. With no other options, Gavri’el dove towards the fallen baton, scooped it up and charged towards his brother intending to swing at the guard should he get in the way. No resistance was forthcoming, and he dropped down at Lukas’ side unmolested. His brother was breathing in shallow gasps, his skin sweaty to the touch, and his pulse more like a flutter than a drumbeat. Gavri’el rolled him onto his back gave him a slight shake but there was no reaction.

         “What happened?’

          Gavri’el startled and turned crouching protectively over his brother.

           “Easy there, kid.” Steady blue eyes assessed him from under a fringe of dirty blond hair, that fell every which way and was hardly constrained by the dark red barrettes he could see sticking out.

           “What do you want?” Gavri’el asked, hunkering down further, “I’ll do anything just please let us go.”

            The guard stared back at him, a frown marring his face in stark juxtaposition to the upwards slant of his lips, eventually though he shook his head and let out a long sigh. “Anything you say, lil’squeaker?”

          “Yes… anything. Just please, let us- “

          “First order of business, shut up,” the guard cut him off smoothly, Gavri’el slammed his mouth shut, settling for a glare instead. The guard just smiled, blinding and bright enough that Gavri’el never saw the strike coming.

         “That was foolish.”

          “When I need an extra opinion, I’ll be sure to ask for it.”

        “I stand corrected that was stupid.”

        “Yes, yes, what’s wrong with him?”

      “He’s exhausted, what were you expecting with one of his kind…”

       There was a drum beating out a slow march in the back of his head, steady thumps that sent pulses of pain down his jaw and around his ears. Gavri’el forced a breath, burying his face into warm cotton, and struggled to open his eyes, only to jolt upright a moment later looking around wide eyed. He was no longer in the alley, he was no longer outside for that matter, instead the inner workings of a room met his gaze complete with two armchairs and a row of beds. He was sitting on one, a light blanket draped over his legs and across from him his brother lay still and pale. Gavri’el yelped and flung himself from the bed, more tumbling across the floor than walking as his head protested viciously the additional movements. Up close, Lukas looked at ease, some color having returned to his faced and his chest rose and fell steadily. The 11-year-old let out a relieved sound and slumped down to his knees, resting his head on the bed. The heat that had been emitting from his brother was all but gone, leaving his skin pleasant to clasp or rest his still pounding head against. Gavri’el closed his eyes, and felt his thoughts fly away like the fleet footed rabbits of the fields, stealing away his consciousness and his worries.


	5. Yesterday is long gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reality comes crashing in.

             _Part V: Yesterday is Long Gone_

           It started off as a simple whim, curiosity sparked by boredom. It was never supposed to go this route, he was never supposed to get this invested. Den bit back his gasps and slid to the ground, flattening himself between the wall and a handy bookshelf. He brought his legs in and scrunched lower as footsteps, heavy thuds, went by setting the floorboards atremble. When his heart or more importantly the floor had stopped shaking, Den straightened up and stepped away from the dusty corner. He checked the hallway once more and headed for the window. The launch was easy, he rolled out of the drop and set off at a jog down the street. At this time of day, the roads were teeming but Den had grown up here, he knew when to dodge, duck, jump, and climb. Up on the rooftops the wind was fiercer, whistling in his ears and stealing away any warmth he managed to produce. He couldn’t bring himself to care, muscle memory carried him across the roofing while his inner eye reviewed every instance and warning that he had ignored. Bruises appearing where nothing had hit him, dirt in his hair, or a shove that had come from nowhere. It was all starting to add up and Den did not like the conclusions he was reaching.

             He dropped to the ground, slowing to a walk as he approached the northern gate, a swift glance told him that taking the exit would be waste of time. He veered sharply left, dodging a man drawn carriage and heading towards the ladder gate. It hung from the wall as huge and daunting as when he’d first seen it, but this time there was no Ber to climb it for him, he’d have to brave it on his own. Den inhaled as much air into his lungs as they could handle, glanced around twice, looking for anyone likely to recognize him, exhaled and took off at a dead sprint. The first rung was mounted a solid 3 feet above the ground, Den jumped, stepped, and grasped. He climbed eyes closed relying on his sense of balance and adrenaline to keep him advancing. It worked at first, the rungs were evenly spaced, and he could scale without worrying about stretching himself. There was no need to open his eyes, thus there was no risk that he would look down.

               Den reached for the next rung, only to sway abruptly when his hand felt nothing but stone. He froze and flattened himself against the wall, air choking in his chest. The metal was solid under his boots, and his left hand was still hooked around a metal rung clenched so tightly his knuckles ached, but his right hand clutched ineffectively at the wall, nails barely digging into the stone. The wind blew unrelentingly, ruffling his hair and trying to insert itself between his body and the wall. He gasped, drawing in one breath after another, until his chest felt so full that it was going to explode. He opened his eyes to slits but saw only the uneven surface of the wall, so close that his eyes burned. Den blinked a few times, counted to ten and back, imagined Berwald’s disappointed face and leaned back. There. A bit higher up than where the rung should’ve been was one made of rope. It sunk in the center, looking frayed and tired.

            “Right,” Den muttered, “Ber never mentioned _that_.” He steeled his jaw, shifted a bit, and reached out closing his fingers tightly around it, he gave an experimental tug and though it swung it held. He started climbing again, eyes fixed firmly on the next grip movements restrained though his heart urged him to move quicker. Under his feet the metal rungs transitioned to stone slots barely deep enough for his boots, some nothing more than toe slots. He kept moving as the wall started a slow curve, and abrupt respect for those that made this climb for fun bloomed in his gut. It was rapidly quashed by the queasiness sloshing about in his stomach and the reminder that over 60% of those fools had been suicidal. He halted on the next foothold deep enough to house more than his toes and took a breather, wiping one hand then another carefully on his pants. He leaned his forehead against the wall and thought of the small smile he’d caught on Lukas’ face just three days earlier. It had been nothing more than a curvature of his lips, but it had felt like a milestone to him. He’d been hit by several vicious acorns when he'd told the boy though, and Lukas had stormed off in a huff. Still, Lukas had been the one to seek him out and though he had yelled a bit for his treatment of Gavri’el, his presence was thanks enough.

          Den swallowed, inhaled slowly, and exhaled as he reached for the next rope hand hold. As he climbed he scored his memory for any tales of sentinels and their treatment by the government. He could not recall having read anything but rumors were always rife about such things, they whispered of vile monsters and bloody disappearances, soulless eyes that stared blankly ahead. None of those things described Lukas. The boy might be cold and brusque but Den had seen the way he looked at his brothers, with a softness to his eyes that reminded Den of the rare times he’d caught his own brother giving him a  similar look. Still, that meant nothing. It meant nothing. Den’s hand closed over stone jolting him out of his thoughts. He lifted his gaze and spotted the top of the wall a mere foot or so above his head, salvation was only a breaths away it seemed. Blowing out a long breath, the teen straightened up until he could place both hands on the lip of the wall, braced his feet on the same shelf and heaved himself upwards. Though his muscles protested the new exertion they lifted him dutifully atop the stone before giving out and leaving him to slump weakly on the wall’s upper path.

           It was a long time before he could force himself to sit up, staring up at a blue sky where the sun shone innocently. He stood up on shaky legs, and looked around the barricades were much as Ber had described them, sparsely manned by tall archers and adorned with the occasional chute. There was no ladder on the other side of the wall and only two ways to get down, one of which would surely leave him lying like broken glass on the ground. That left him with only one choice truly. Den wiped his face on his shoulder, tried on a smile for size and sauntered towards the nearest guard. The archer gave no sign that he had heard him, remaining rim-rod straight, eyes constantly scanning the road and a hand laying on his weapon. A few feet past him wooden planks lay blithely out of place. Den kept moving with only the slightest falter to his steps, and made as if he were admiring the view. He passed behind the archer and carefully eased himself down besides the wood, one hand resting on the iron ring that rose up from it. He gave an experimental tug, expecting the door to resist but it swung open so violently that he had no chance to stop it from slamming back against the stone. The archer spun around, crossbow raised and armed, slitted eyes stared down at him.  

       “...”

        “...”

        “Hullo! Nice day out isn’t it?” Den asked, voice functioning fine despite the ice that had frozen his other muscles.

        “Identification.”

         “It’s quite a nice view up here, but it’s got to be boring, what do you do for fun?” Den continued, struggling to keep the false cheerfulness in his voice as he released the trapdoor and shifted onto the balls of his feet.

      “Identification.” The crossbow shifted with him, its wielder’s voice remaining as blank as a slab of polished stone.  “Identify yourself.”

       “Yes yes, of course how rude of me!” Den laughed, chanced a glance at the dark hole that awaited him, looked back up at the guard and continued, “My name is I’ll be leaving noooooooow!” Without waiting for the sentence to finish leaving his mouth he dropped into the hole, slamming down hard against the stone ramp and shooting off as his voice drifted off above his head.

        Den had slid down a slide all of one time in his life though it hadn’t been by choice, Ber had shoved him down it in a fit of temper. He distinctly remembered the feeling of leaving his stomach at the top of the metal ramp, but it had been over before he’d had time to panic spitting him out to lay dazed on the mulch. This was different, for one it wasn’t just his stomach he’d left at the entrance but his voice and his heart as well. For another the ride was much longer and steeper, every bump in the stone sent shooting up into the air and slamming back down in such a fashion that he would surely gain bruises. Gripping his baton tightly, Den screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to breath. He shot out of the other end like an arrow leaving itself bow and hit the awaiting dirt pile in a flail of limbs. Crawling out, he spared a few minutes to gather his bearings, looking around to locate the forest edge and the northern gate. One was still a distance away, the other dangerously close. Den stood up and set off at a jog, eyes fixed straight ahead and limbs moving at a restrained lope.

         For all that his brother and Lukas liked to mock him, Den had not obtained his job by being shitty at it. The ground beneath his feet flowed from grass to underbrush and he slid through the trees following a path that he had only traveled once before. He made no effort to hide his presence all of his thoughts focused on moving forwards, on reaching Lukas before _they_ did. He had the headstart but they had the power, and it could never be a fair fight if they caught up to them not that he wouldn’t give his all to help a friend. The air rustled, and a tree branch abruptly wrapped around his ankle sending him crashing to the ground before he could help it. A person dressed in a flowing trench coat appeared above him and landed hard on his chest, knees expertly pinning his arms as a small blade found his way to his throat.

        “You’re learning!” Den exclaimed and beamed proudly, effectively cutting off whatever his assailant had been about to spit. Dark eyes peered down at him, weighted in their exasperation, the blade pressed a tad closer but a moment later it disappeared and the figure rolled off of him.

         “What are you doing here?” Lukas asked, as he dusted himself off, “don’t you know that the woods aren’t a safe place for the ‘big bad guards’ to play in?”

           “Aww, you worried about me? That’s sweet Lu,” Den replied cheerfully and dared to reach out to ruffle the fluffy hair, he withdrew his hand swiftly though when the knife made a reappearance. Lukas gave him a look that promised a slow and painful death should he try that particular stunt again and stalked off without a word. Den caught up easily, falling into step besides him as if he had been doing it for years and not months. Walking besides Lukas felt as comfortable as pacing besides Ber during their daily patrols. Though as of late Ber most often strode a few steps behind, some protective delusion swamping his brain that Den had still not managed to rid him of.

         “What are you still doing here?”

        Lukas’ quiet hiss broke through the silence as effectively as it pierced through the haze of Den’s thoughts. He looked down, blue eyes stared stared back up at him, as cold as ice and as emotionless as… Den shook his head violently, stopping to brutally knuckle the thoughts out of his forehead. It didn’t help, only drawing a look of exasperated concern onto his friend’s face and Den knew he was thrice screwed. He knew better, he should’ve known better, Ber was going to _kill_ him.

       “Run away with me.”

       “What?!”

         There was suddenly a distance between the two that hadn’t been there before, the concern vanishing back behind raised walls. Den laughed helplessly at the sight. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out, “I’m sorry that came out wrong.”

          “You’re being more of a moron than usual,” Lukas replied eventually, “cease and desist.” He turned, clearly intending to keep walking.

           “You need to take your brothers and flee,” Den repeated, voice growing louder as the laughter receded into the dark hole it had burst from. “Right now, they’re onto you.”

          To his credit Lukas did not freeze, he did not question the odd statement, he simply ceased to look over his shoulder and broke out into a sprint. Den gave chase without a second thought. Lukas was fast, no doubt a talent born from his nature but Den had come into his own hunting down rats and dogged him easily all the way back to his nest. Lukas snarled at him to _stay out_ and disappeared into the roof, the only signs of his passage the occasional loud clatter. Thus assigned guard duty, Den faced the forest and waited one eye carefully marking the passage of time. The noon hour had long passed by the time Lukas returned a simple bag slung over his shoulder and herding three confused children in front him.

        “Hullo, lil’squeakers,” Den said cheerfully, “We’re going to go on a road trip, I hope you’ve had a good lunch.” An acorn bounced off the back of his head but the laughter came easily when he was facing down Gavri’el’s disgruntled face and Emil’s suspicious eyes, only Mikal cheered with the lovely enthusiasm of the truly innocent. It made the stone settling in his stomach a bit easier to bear.

 


End file.
